


Soultapped

by LoxieBoxie, TGP



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demonstuck, Humanstuck, Multi, Nightmares, Possession, References to Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoxieBoxie/pseuds/LoxieBoxie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TGP/pseuds/TGP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Aradia wants to do is write her dissertation and get some funding so she can dig her claws into some of the juicy, mysterious ruins around the city. If she can score some rare old books on the side from that dumb private bookseller who thinks she wouldn’t have the guts to follow through on his childish, slumber-party level dare? Even better.</p>
<p>Except for that part where she might have just actually kick-started Armageddon or something. Yeah, that? That’s not so great.</p>
<p>All Karkat wants to do is forget that there’s a room in his house dedicated to supernatural lore and mythos. Who wants to deal with the existence of demons when finals and senior projects are looming on the horizon?</p>
<p>Gamzee just wants his best motherfucking friend to stop freaking out over his tattoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Author's Note:**

> This story is being posted in segments with art and such on its tumblr, http://soultapped.tumblr.com/ Definitely check that for updates, as this mirror will be updated as we remember to. XD 
> 
> Tags to be added as they become applicable.

Aradia’s hands are covered in more chalk than the floor is, but at least the symbols are finally right. She checks the lines, studying for any blip or wobble in the solid design. The star is even (she’d taken the time to measure it just to make sure) and the circle around it as steady as she’d been able. She’s gone over the symbols to make them nice and thick, smoothing out the edges with the tips of her fingers.

This is the weirdest thing Aradia has ever done in her life. She can’t think of anything weirder, anyway, not even from that week in Jamaica that she only remembers due to photographic evidence. (How she managed to get painted up like an exotic bird and have donuts on top of the Pork Pit’s sign alongside a hottie with the body, she’ll never know, but it did land her going steady for two months with a hand model named Jennifer. Sollux will never let her live that down.) Aradia has had an adventurous life. So, when she thinks this is pretty weird, _it’s pretty weird_. She feels a little silly but she’s never been one to run away from a challenge! And this isn’t so much challenging as… Well, something else. Silly?

It’s not the dressing up that makes her feel silly. Honestly, she’d wear fancy cloaks and hoods everyday if she could get away with that. She likes the way the fabric flares when she bounces around. Even the face paint doesn’t bother her, though the swirls are starting to tickle a little as they dry. What really is getting her goat is the words she’s about to say. Aradia knows a _lot_ of latin, a boon from her early school days before her parents realized no private girls’ academy was going to tame her spirit, and while she prizes her ability to muscle through perverted latin poems, it’s a little silly to recite satanic psalms in a dark, abandoned shed near a run down cottage in the middle of the woods.

“Come on, get it together.” She checks the altar set up one last time, glancing at one of the dusty tomes she brought along. All her chalk lines are straight and her symbols perfect. She’d practiced them just to make sure because she is not losing this bet due to some technicality. Nudging the main purple candle just a bit closer to the northern point, she finally decides that she’s ready and takes a picture of the whole set up for posterity.

Aradia feels a little like a horny teenager in a horror flick. Which is stupid, of course, because she hasn’t been a teenager in years. Plus, horror flicks have no bearing on reality. She’s in more danger of finding a tick on her ass than getting ripped apart by a ghost monster serial killer doll thing. (Idly, she thinks maybe it’s been too long since she and Sollux had a movie night. He does the best screams.)

She checks her watch and then shoots a glance out the window, but there’s no way to track a moon she can’t see. She studies the stars instead, tells herself she’s not stalling, then realizes she is anyway and, well, can’t have that.

Aradia begins the ritual. She lets the honey-sweet words flow out as she lights the main candle and then the silvers and the reds. She anoints her space with pinches of carefully sprinkled salt and drops of holy water from the vial she’d gotten when she agreed to do this. She knows it’s tap water. She pretends not to.

Incense comes next and the mixture of herbs tickles her nose. The fact that she doesn’t start sneezing up a storm is surprising enough, but that she actually likes the scent is even odder. Aradia’s never been much for aromatherapy but right now, as the herbs mix with the heating oils she anointed the candles with, she finds herself growing more and more relaxed. Like every worry she’s ever had is just slipping right away into the void. _Note to self, remember this for later, when I get closer to the deadline for my next paper._

Firelight flickers along the dips and ridges of the skulls decorating her altar. As she continues to speak, they seem more and more to be staring right back at her. Her eyes lock on the main skull, studying the sharper edges around the eye sockets like she’s looking for something, but she doesn’t know what. She thinks about stopping. She doesn’t.

The incense gets thick enough to almost choke her but now the words are coming out steady and strong and Aradia’s not even looking at the book anymore. It’s like her body is going on its own now and she’s just along for the ride. Like the words are taking control. She’s swept up in this now; all she can do is finish. As the last word leaves her lips, something clamps down on her throat.

**Oh, you’re stupid.**

Aradia tries to suck in a reflexive breath but nothing comes through. She tries to scream. The pressure increases around her neck, around her entire body, like the shed is filling with something denser than air and she’s caught. She can’t breathe.All around her feels like touch, like blasts of air without wind. It’s like a voice yelling words she can’t hear. The sheer force of it leaves her powerless, stock still. She can’t even twitch her fingers.

**How could anyone. Be this stupid?**

Colors flash behind her eyes. Terrible, abhorrent colors, wrong in every form or fashion. Colors that make her feel small and terrified and weak. Her feet lift off the ground and she can’t even struggle. Her eyes flash wildly about, trying to find some source, some _reason_ , but only the altar sits before her. Aradia throws everything into trying to move, fighting and screaming within herself.

**Are you kidding me?**

She’s crying, raging, and the voice in her head only begins to laugh. Abruptly, Aradia’s thrown to the ground. She tumbles to the edge of the chalk circle and hits an invisible barrier that burns until she manages to roll away from it. Laughter fills every crevice of the shed, echoing and bouncing around her to come back louder every time. She covers her ears, desperate to escape the torrent of noise, but it hits her like something real, something tangible. Gets in her skin and burrows deep. It’s inside her.

Pressure builds around the circle, around the altar, pressing so tight that sparks light the air around her. Her ears pop and then clog only to pop again as the pressure fluctuates wildly like a living thing. It pins her down to the floor and digs into her back like rocks piling higher and higher, almost crushing her.

**This is the best joke I didn’t tell myself.**

Red light flickers in the empty sockets of the skulls. And then everything goes dark.


	2. What Friends Are For

When Aradia wakes up, it’s to daylight on her cheek. She jerks up, knocking splintered wood off her back. All around her is the remains of the shed. The thing’s been ripped to shreds, bits of wood and glass and metal shingles thrown every which way from the destructive force of whatever she did last night.

The first thing she does is check her body, but she has only a few shallow scratches. Then she sits there for a few minutes and tries to figure out just what the hell happened anyway. She just… can’t think of anything logical to explain it. Getting up, Aradia dusts off her skirt a bit, even though there’s not really much point considering how wrecked it is. She picks around the site, finds where her circle had been, and it is charred black under all the debris. The candles are melted into uneven puddles of wax and the skulls? Broken to pieces. All of them. She can only tell what they’d been once because she recognizes the feel of bone against her fingertips. Along with the general foresty scents wafting about, she can still pick out hints of incense within the area.

Aradia picks out her book and gathers it against her chest. She’s surprised it hadn’t been ripped up like the rest. The place looks like a tornado went through it. She finds herself giving a little, nervous laugh. Even surviving a tornado sounds more plausible than what she remembers.  

It takes ten minutes to find her car. Aradia stashes the book in the back and then drags out her purse, fishing through it for her phone. The red battery light flashes a low warning. She knows she charged it right before she left… Just another oddity to add to the list. Biting her lip, she hopes the charge lasts long enough as she speed dials her roommate.

“Where the hell have you been?” Funny how comforting the sound of his voice can be. “That athhole you like came by and thtunk up the plathe-”

“Sollux?” Her voice wavers, rough from screaming. She swallows to try and clear it a bit and wow, her throat is so dry right now. “So, I might have done something really stupid.”

“Like thith ith a new thing.” He sighs, put upon in the most forced and fake manner possible. Adorable. “What’th hith name.”

“Ha, yeah, like that’s so like me,” she snorts, shaking her head. “Though. I kind of wish it was that simple. I mean, then you could just come pick me up, we’d get some ice cream, put in a good movie-”

“Okay. What’th _her_ name.”

“Why is it you always jump to the conclusion that I’ve slept with someone when I regret my actions?”

“Aradia. You thlept with _me_ onth. I think that thayth loadth about your perthonal tathe.”

He has a point. She’s always had shitty luck with partners, the few she’s bothered to go all the way with. Most people have a serious underappreciation for the joys of just making out.

“Bethideth, ith not like you ever regret anything elth.”

Second point. Aradia frowns at the tally in her head. “Okay, okay, I get it. I promise to let you pick out the next person I date if you will just drop it.”

“Well, ith not going to be the thmelly athhole.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“He really ith.”

Rolling her eyes skyward, she decides she’s prattled enough. “We can talk about my romantic issues later. Right now, I’m in the middle of the woods and I think I might have summoned Satan.”

There is absolute silence on the other side. She can’t even hear the always present game noise in the background.

“ _What_.”

“Trust me, I’m not really thrilled about this either-”

“How high are you?!”

“Would you believe I’m completely sober?”

“No!” He makes a snotty, disgusted sound that reminds her of a pissed off goat. “Okay, what really happened?”

“I, uh. I wasn’t exactly kidding.”

“Oh my god.”

“Sollux-”

“I can’t believe I’m thaying thith but Aradia Megido, _I am dithappoint._ ”

Aradia grins despite herself. “So you’ll help me figure out how to fix this, right?”

“Ith called medicathion.”

“You’re the best. I’ll be home in a couple hours.”

“The men in white coatths will be here to greet you.”


	3. A Bad Sign

"WAKE THE FUCK UP, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

"DAD, GOD, MY ALARM GOES OFF IN TWO MINUTES! FUCK YOU, YOU IMPATIENT ASSHOLE!”

"DON’T YELL AT ME! YOU’RE GOING TO BE FUCKING LATE!"

"JESUS CHRIST, DAD, SCHOOL’S NOT FOR ANOTHER TWO HOURS!"

Sometimes, it surprises Karkat that the neighbors haven’t called CPS on them even once. He glares at the mocking numbers of his alarm clock and stubbornly stays wrapped in the warm cocoon of his blankets for the last minute. There’s something to be said about pure spite. He hears Dad grumbling in the kitchen (which means he hears every word clearly because his dad has absolutely no volume control) and supposedly making breakfast, but Karkat doesn’t trust him to actually manage anything more difficult than cereal or toast.

The devil of an alarm clock his mom sent from New York starts caterwauling so Karkat jabs his thumb on the off button and reluctantly extracts himself from the blankets. He curses over the cold air that seeps into his pajamas and then snarls as his bare feet hit cold wood laminant. By the time he gets to the freezing tile of the bathroom, he’s bitching as much as Dad is in the kitchen. Then Dad starts getting louder and Karkat refuses to be undone so he’s yelling and yeah, their neighbors must be deaf. He’s still grumping at the top of his lungs by the time he leaves for school, knocking Dad’s fedora from the stand by the door just to make sure Dad knows he hasn’t given up the game. There’s nothing Karkat hates more than losing anything to him and he’s almost disappointed he’ll miss the moment Dad discovers his beloved hat so disrespected. Life’s little victories should be savored.

Not that Karkat had much in victories lately. Actually, things had been kind of weird the last few days. Okay, so one thing had been more than a little weird the last few days.

When Karkat had been just a kid, he’d had a pet crab. He’d loved the fuck out of that crab. Dad had called it an exercise in responsibility (though Ma had called later, and told Karkat that she’d threatened Dad until he’d agreed to get him a pet, and that she was going to kick his ass for being such a cop-out), but responsibility had been the last thing on his mind when it came to Crabdad (he hadn’t been a very creative kid, so sue him). The first thing he’d do when he got home from school was beeline for the habitat he’d whined his father into buying, because he didn’t mind cleaning it out or feeding Crabdad or making sure the crustacean was clean so long as it meant it stayed happy.

Crabdad had been a lot of work for a pre-schooler, maybe, but it hadn’t been work he’d minded because he’d been more than rewarded for it by Crabdad’s companionship.

Being friends with Gamzee Makara is kind of like that.

Sometimes it’s kind of a chore, but it’s always worth it - it’s weird, but Gamzee’s the best friend he’s ever had. Sure, he sometimes grosses out Karkat’s other friends, and sometimes Karkat worries there’s a fungus growing in his brain, but considering how weirdly, unequivocally attached to the other boy he is, he figures it’s just another case of the gain being worth the effort. Sometimes, though, Gamzee worries him like Crabdad never did.

He knows he lives with his brother, but he doesn’t know why.  There are other things about Gamzee that worries him, like the way he spaces out sometimes, or the way he never wears short sleeves, or the way he talks about miracles every now and again.

It’s… probably nothing, he guesses. He’s a pretty paranoid person sometimes, and all the things that worry him are pretty small things, but… they’re a lot of small things. Small things that he still doesn’t have an answer to, even after the two years he’s known Gamzee. But if Gamzee hasn’t opened up, yet, Karkat wonders if he ever will. And thinking about it all the time just stains whatever time he spends with Gamzee, so he does his best to push it out of his head.

Anyway, it’s not like Karkat tells Gamzee everything about his life (mostly because why would he? The last thing Gamzee needs is to know his parents hunt demons). And if, sometimes, he can’t quite push away that bubble of worry that works it’s way into his chest, well, those are the days he makes Gamzee come home with him, just so he can keep an eye on the asshole.

Which is why he’s standing outside Gamzee’s last class of the day, frowning at the door and waiting for last bell to ring. He’d made sure to get out of class early just so he could be here to wait for the fuckhead, and whether Gamzee knows it or not, he’s coming home with Karkat today.

Gamzee has been acting weird all week. Weirder than usual, which is pretty weird in general. Monday, he hacked up his guts in gym, got sent home, and even when Karkat went to visit him after school, he was… Off. Like he was scared. No, fuck that, like he was terrified. If it weren’t for the fact that Gamzee’s brother didn’t allow anyone to sleep over, he wouldn’t have left Gamzee’s side. And when Gamzee showed up Tuesday, he still looked bad off. Karkat’s pretty sure he didn’t get any rest. It’s just gotten worse over the week, but the braindead moron refuses to give even a hint of what’s going on. So Karkat’s going to take him home and feed him, and then Gamzee’s going to sleep if Karkat has to tuck him in and read him a bedtime story himself, god damn it. If that’s all he’s allowed to do for him, it’s what he’ll damn well do.

When Gamzee manages to slope his way out the classroom, he gives Karkat a sleepy blink of surprise. The bags under his eyes are ridiculously dark, like he hasn’t slept at all, and he hasn’t bothered to brush his hair, but that’s kind of a normal thing. At least his hair isn’t hanging in his eyes today, held back by a thin, neon green headband with stars all over it, but maybe he’d look less like a dead man walking if it was.

“Hey, best friend,” Gamzee greets, smiling as aimlessly as ever. There’s no guile to him and there never has been, for all that he’s a guy who keeps secrets insanely close to the chest. He moves out of the doorway to let the other kids out, careful as always to keep from getting knocked about in their rush.

“Don’t you ‘hey, best friend’ me, you pitiful excuse for a stoner,” he grouses back, but it lacks any real insult to it - he hasn’t actually wanted to insult Gamzee since the first time he met him, and that hasn’t changed now, even if Gamzee looks three steps from falling over in a dead faint.  He adjusts his bag so the strap grips his shoulder better, and then waves a hand back over his shoulder towards the end of the hallway, where the doors of freedom await.

“Ma sent a recipe in her postcard yesterday.” He’s told Gamzee she travels for business, which isn’t actually a lie, just an omission of the complete truth. “You’re coming home with me so that if it’s actually poison meant to off Dad, I have someone to stand up for me in court when I say I had no idea.”

Gamzee laughs, but even that sound is off, a little too quiet and a little hoarse. He’s got a rough voice anyway, low and swinging like it’s alive, but he doesn’t generally sound that tired. And the way he’s been looking off when he spaces this last week, it’s got a weird haunted quality to it that Karkat does not like at all.

“A’ight,” he says and then manhandles his phone out of his pocket to send his brother a message. “Always up for some motherfucking cooking. You got all we need or we gonna have to up and head by the motherfucking store?”

Gamzee has always been careful about checking in with his brother. It’s about the only thing he’s careful about, to be perfectly honest. Karkat’s kind of gotten used to it and just assumes it’s a courtesy he, personally, doesn’t bother sharing with his own dad. Kurloz is kind of like Gamzee’s dad, right? Or something. Not just an older brother, at least, because he takes care of him. Maybe he just worries easy or something and Gamzee’s trying to head that off. It’s still a little weird, but it’s Gamzee, who’s more than just a ‘little weird’ as a whole.

“It’s like you think cooking is a regular enough event in my house that we’d deplete the food stores or something,” He snorts, and then imagines his Dad trying to cook and - yeah, no. The only time the kitchen gets used for actual food in his house is when he cooks (which isn’t often, he has better things to do with his time), or the few and rare times that Droog decides Dad is a shitty Dad and tries to make something ‘nutritional’. Occasionally, he lets Gamzee get after the oven with his pie-lust.  After a moment of frowning at his skyscraper of a best friend, Karkat turns to start the “journey” home.

“Come on, if we’re lucky we can get home first and lock him out.  It’ll be hilarious when I call the cops.”

Gamzee tucks his phone away and hikes his backpack up a little higher on his shoulder before he moves to follow. He’s still smiling but he doesn’t have his usual love of life in each step. He doesn’t even accidentally get ahead by forgetting how much shorter Karkat’s stride is.

“What’s the recipe for?” he asks belatedly, like he’s just remembered what they’re going to do even though they just agreed on it. Which is a quicker loss of the conversation than normal. Gamzee’s pretty airheaded, putting it gently, but he tends to zone out when people stop talking to him, not while they’re doing it. He rubs at one purple rimmed eye. “Dinner? Dessert?”

Karkat frowns and finds himself side-glancing his friend as they walk, because yeah, Gamzee’s definitely exhausted. What the fuck’s going on that he’s losing enough sleep to be this bad off?  He’s half tempted to reach out and just grab his elbow, because he looks like he might actually just fall over and pass out any minute if someone doesn’t hold him steady. Gamzee just seems…muted.

“Dinner,” he answers after a moment and then makes himself look ahead again, “Some kind of vindaloo thing, which is why I half-think she’s trying to poison him. If you’re still hungry afterwards, though, there’s plenty of stuff around to make dessert, too. Are you okay?”

He asks it abruptly, because he can’t not ask it, and even if he knows what the answer is, he just hopes that Gamzee might at least tell him a little about what’s going on. But Gamzee just pauses and looks at Karkat straight on. The smile fades and what replaces it… That is so far from okay that it might as well be dying. After a few seconds, Gamzee looks away again as he mutters out, “Yeah, sure. Just a little tired. Ain’t no thing, best friend. I just ain’t sleeping all that motherfucking good. It’ll pass.”

Karkat kicks the ground because he’s used to Gamzee keeping secrets, but there’s keeping secrets and then there’s lying. He’s not okay. Somehow, Karkat doesn’t think he’s ‘just a little tired’, either. It’s worse because he’s pretty sure Gamzee knows he’s not going to buy that, but he still said it anyway because he knows Karkat won’t call him on it. Yeah, Gamzee is definitely staying at his house tonight, if for no other reason than Karkat figuring out why he isn’t sleeping.

“Right, well, excuse me for worrying when you look like you’ve got one foot in a coffin. If you’re so tired you can nap on the couch while dinner gets made or something, the last thing I need is for you to try and help cook while you’re that fucking exhausted.”  Napping’s good - it’s a start, at least, and Karkat knows for a fact that their couch is it’s own little piece of heaven. Something needs to get done tonight, anyway, if he’s going to make sure Gamzee’s really okay.

At least Gamzee looks instantly chastised, but then he drops his gaze to the ground, shoulders hunching before he can force himself to smooth them out.

“I ain’t that motherfucking off,” Gamzee insists and straightens himself up to show it. “Best friend, you don’t gotta worry, I’m okay. It’s just some nightmares. I swear, it’s all fine.”

Ah, fuck, he hates it when he manages to say something that actually gets to Gamzee, because as quick as he is to anger, he is just as quick to feel guilty. Gamzee already looks like enough shit that he probably doesn’t need Karkat dumping more on him, and even if he personally thinks Gamzee should maybe nap or sleep or knock himself into a coma for a few hours, he can’t deny that he actually prefers having the big dimwit around to help cook.

“Nightmares?” he asks, because that catches his attention quick. It’s more than Gamzee’s given up all week. For some reason, Karkar had never imagined Gamzee as the type to have nightmares. He doesn’t even realize how quick he is to want to help him that he’s already thinking about breaking into his parent’s study to see if there’s any kind of supernatural cure for the kind of nightmares that keeps a guy up for a week. How would he even get Gamzee to agree to shit like that, it’s all fucking ridiculous. Spacey as he is, Gamzee is ridiculously down to earth about certain things.

“I think there’s probably some kind of tea or incense or some other spiritual bullshit that’s supposed to help with that kind of thing,” he mutters, because there’s no point in not leaving the option open, just in case. Gamzee looks bad enough right now that he’s willing to do a lot just to make sure he gets better.  “But you can help make dinner if you really think you’re up to it.”

“I am. You know I am,” Gamzee assures him but something in Karkat’s words stick because he still doesn’t quite regain his smile. Or, rather, it twists instead to something less recognizable. Karkat isn’t sure what it was, but he doesn’t like the way Gamzee’s eyes go all fractured and bitter for a moment.

Karkat doesn’t know that Gamzee’s okay to cook, but so long as he keeps an eye on him he’s fairly sure he can keep permanent injury from happening. At least Ma sent him a recipe that’s fairly quick this time - less chance of there being some kind of horrible fuck up and him having to explain to Gamzee’s brother just how Gamzee fell into a stove and burned off his whole hand or something, who even knew what could go wrong. Saying no to Gamzee right now seemed a little bit like kicking a puppy, and Karkat’s personal moral code said he should only do that when the puppy was actually an evil demon.

After explaining to his Dad, explicitly, that his school friends weren’t demons the first time he’d brought Gamzee home, he’s pretty sure he’d actually notice that kind of thing.


	4. A Bad Sign, Part Two

They’re walking up to the front door and a glance at the driveway says Dad’s out so Karkat fishes his key out of his pocket to unlock the door. “Toss your shit wherever, you know the rules. Ten points if Dad trips and breaks a bone.”

He drops his bag half in the doorway on habit because he is half serious about his dad breaking a bone. It really would be funny as hell. Without bothering to give Gamzee a glance, he heads for the kitchen. He knows his best friend will meander along soon enough.

Gamzee has this thing he does, anytime he comes over (or goes anyway because Karkat’s seen him do it in stores, too.) He’ll scope the place out, look around like he’s making sure everything’s the way he left them. Karkat’s never really understood it but the last time he asked had resulting in an hour of Gamzee spouting off butterfly facts instead. He always finds something else to talk about when he doesn’t want to explain something and annoying as it is, at least he doesn’t tend to lie.

Except when he does. Then it’s a bother. Karkat uses the wait time to dig the recipe out from the drawer.

When Gamzee does end up sauntering into the kitchen, he’s yawning again and scratching back through his hair only to mess up his headband. Dark curls go everywhere, a riot like mess. Gamzee pauses to futz with it until the band is holding back his hair again. Something crosses his face as he goes still, something weirdly between blank and- scared? It’s gone in a moment and then Gamzee’s wringing his hands and babbling out, “You got the recipe so I can get my gander on? See what we’re up against?”

Karkat doesn’t like the furtive way Gamzee’s moving tonight, but he doubts he’ll get details out of him until he’s full. Best way to get him to open up was to feed the gangly asshole. He waved the recipe sheet he’d printed off. “Okay, let’s get this shitshow started, I’m fucking starving. Get a looksie.”

Gamzee grins like Karkat is the funniest thing ever. Taking the recipe, he reads through it all once, then sets it down and rolls his sleeves partway up his forearms to keep his hands bare.

As far as Karkat knows, he’s the only person other than maybe that brother of his who has seen the burns on Gamzee’s arms. They’re lighter than his skin, perfect little circles in random order, with a old slash along the inner side of his right forearm. Gamzee’s been careful to keep them covered the whole time Karkat’s known him. The scars have bothered him since the first time he saw them, months ago, but he knows better than to ask - Gamzee will just derail or redirect in that stoner-distracted way he does, anyway. For the most part, Karkat is okay just waiting for him to decide to explain.

The two of them work pretty well together like this. They chatter about nothing and most of the time, Gamzee manages to keep up on both the words and what his hands are doing. He doesn’t slip up with the knife or forget the stovetop is hot, anyway, and that’s always a plus. It’s going well enough between them that Karkat’s almost willing to concede that maybe he’s being a little bit of a bear about this whole ‘not sleeping’ thing.  Maybe Gamzee’s just having an off week?  Whatever it is, they’ll fix it somehow and he’s _pretty_ sure he’s working himself up over nothing.  

The vindaloo smells delicious enough to get his belly grumbling and Gamzee is grinning his head off. That’s the way Karkat likes him best.

So, because everything’s going fine and he’s starting to believe it when Gamzee says they’re just nightmares, something decides to go _wrong_ and bring all of his worry right back to the forefront of his thoughts.

Gamzee’s hand slips as he’s portioning out the food into bowls, either from exhaustion or excitement, and he ends up with a ladle full of red splashed over his front. He immediately drops the ladle back into the pot and jerks his shirt away from his chest, hissing faintly at the heat. Karkat pulls a face. That’s gotta be hot, but there’s not much he can do for him.

“You all right?”

Gamzee swallows and lets the sodden shirt fall back against his skin like it’s not hot enough to burn him. His expression- The only way Karkat can think to describe it is haunted. And then he closes off and gives a noncommittal sound. Gamzee grabs a roll of paper towels and starts cleaning up like he’d just done something absolutely terrible.

Okay, so Karkat isn’t really mad about the Vindaloo, because accidents happen, it’s just that usually Gamzee isn’t really what he’d call…clumsy? He sways to and fro a lot, but he wouldn’t say ‘clumsiness’ is something he’d actually _apply_ as a description. Shaking his head, Karkat helps clean up after uttering an oath under his breath, and when that’s done, he makes a face at that messed shirt because now that he’s thinking about it, “That’s going to get uncomfortable and gross. The rest of the food can wait a few minutes while we go and find you something actually clean to wear.”

Gamzee barely looks up. His brows are pulled, tight and bothered, and Karkat knows that slump to his shoulders. He recognizes the kind of mood where Gamzee mumbles and seems to hunch in on himself. It comes and goes, but stays gone more often than not - he’s never really been sure what causes it, but he knows enough to know he’s got to find some way to get him to relax again. He doesn’t like the way Gamzee looks so tense, when he’s like this.

“Sure,” Gamzee mumbles as he throws away the gross paper towels and straightens up to his feet. He follows Karkat back to his room without another word. Despite the height difference, Gamzee’s really not much bigger than Karkat. He’s just longer and leaner, and that’s helped the few times he’s stayed for an impromptu sleepover with nothing to sleep in. Turning from him, Karkat starts rooting around for a spare shirt. He pauses however when he hears the sound of cloth rustling and looked up.

Gamzee’s caught the bottom of his shirt and jerks it up over his head. In a second, it’s balled up in his hands and Karkat realizes with a start that in the two years they’ve been friends, he’s never seen Gamzee shirtless. Is that a weird thing to notice, or a weirder thing _not_ to notice? There’s never really been a reason for Gamzee to _be_ shirtless, but then again, there’s no reason for him to be not be, either? It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it strikes him enough that he keeps staring past what he’d personally consider to be fucking _polite_ , and that’s why he’s still looking when Gamzee turns enough that he can see his _back_.

Complimenting the burns on his forearms are more of the nasty little dots along his shoulders and one at the nape of his neck that Karkat almost misses past dark curls. What actually catches his attention is the thick black design set between Gamzee’s shoulder blades. The pattern is a perfectly round circle inset with seven armed star and several smaller symbols surrounding it at key points. Some kind of script circles it delicately. It looks like something out of a supernatural TV show, which is incredibly unlike Gamzee. He might have his head in the clouds but he’d never been that heavy into ghost shit or anything of the like. Neither is Karkat, but Karkat doesn’t _have_ to be into supernatural television shows to recognize old, old lessons that he rarely has reason to think about, anymore. He can’t say he can place it, but it’s so out of fucking character for Gamzee that even if he _hadn’t_ vaguely recognized some of those symbols as things he’d been vehemently warned off of, he’d have been curious. He commits it to memory as much as he can, because if this is the first time he’s ever seen Gamzee shirtless he’s not counting on being able to get a second look.

“Where the hell did you get that tattoo?” he asks, and he tries to keep levity in his voice, even though he thinks it probably sounds as thick as it feels. “Doesn’t really seem your style.”

The taller boy looks back at him with some surprise. He shrugs a shoulder after a moment and looks away. “Got it a couple motherfucking years ago.”

Wrapping the shirt around itself so most of the mess is on the inside, Gamzee sets it down by the door and fetches a towel from the bathroom, wetting it down so he can wipe off curry juice from his chest.

“My bro got it for me. Said it’s supposed to protect me from motherfucking evil. Kurloz is all into that spiritual stuff,” he explains and what. _What?_ His _brother_ got it for him? When he’d been, what, fifteen?  Karkat thinks even back then, he’d have noticed if Gamzee had been careful of his back, so it must have been before he’d moved down. Still, Karkat’s just remembering all the times where Kurloz has done something that he’d thought seemed a little weird but had brushed off, of the way that Gamzee seems, frankly, so dependent on him. It’s less creepy now, and way more ominous.

Because protection is not what his Dad and Ma’s lessons had been about, not when it came to sigils like _that_. He’s already trying to remember which books he’d read, which ones are going to have what he needs for reference, because that’s _branded_ on his best friend’s skin, forever, and looking at puts ice in his veins.

What the fuck is his brother trying to pull?

Maybe it’s a misunderstanding - maybe Kurloz really did think those meant protection, but Karkat’s not about to risk Gamzee on a maybe.

Gamzee comes back to the bedroom to take the fresh shirt from Karkat’s hands and starts dragging it on. He’s careful to tug the sleeves down fully, even though a second ago he’d been half bared.

“He never really struck me as the religious type, honestly,” Karkat murmurs, striving to find some amount of sense to this. “You were okay with getting a tattoo like that?”  

Who the fuck had even _done_ the tattooing? Karkat could admit to not being up on all those laws, but he’d been half sure you were supposed to be a certain age before anyone decent would tattoo you. Did no one else think that a grown man inking pagan shit onto his little brother was a little fucking weird?

“Nah, he’s real religious,” Gamzee replies, open and even and completely sincere. Guileless as ever. “Since I can remember, he’s talked to God.”

Being ‘real religious’ for most normal families, in Karkat’s experience, means going to church every sunday and saying grace at dinner, not designing your little brother’s first tattoo. Strangely enough, Karkat maybe has a few doubts that Kurloz’s version of ‘talking to God’ is reciting prayer at his bedside every night.

“I just- It was okay with me. I mean, it didn’t motherfucking hurt much,” Gamzee mutters and his tone is off, almost defensive, like he’s got some idea of what’s going through Karkat’s head. “It was important to him and… My bro don’t ask for much so if he wants to all up and mark me so he feels like I’m motherfucking protected, I guess that’s okay.”

It doesn’t take long for Karkat to recognize the rage that’s making him clench his fists.  He gets his temper from his Dad.

“Gamzee, that’s bullshit. It’s a tattoo and you were, like, what? Fifteen? And you just agreed because your brother _said_ _so?_ I know you look up to him, but this isn’t - Look, I’m pretty sure that’s not a symbol of protection. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t ask for much, he had no right to ask that of you!”

Gamzee flinches in a way that’s completely on the inside, like he’ shutting down. It’s how he always reacts when Karkat’s voice raises but doubly so when it’s directed at _him_. He digs his nails into his palm, holding himself back.

“No, no, man, you don’t-” He cuts off, jaw clenching a moment before he can try again. “He motherfucking _saved_ me. He’s the one what takes care of me- you don’t get it. You just- He’s all to being the motherfucking one what got me _safe_.”

Saved him from _what_ _?_ Karkat can’t do anything for a moment except stare at Gamzee, because he’s pretty fucking sure that this isn’t going well, but he can’t just… He can _not_ keep quiet about this. Gamzee is way too important to him to just let him be jerked around by anyone, much less by his own brother. He doesn’t know how to explain that just because Kurloz saved him from something, it didn’t have to mean it’d been in Gamzee’s best interests. Karkat was starting to really think it really, _really_ hadn’t been.

“You can’t go saying-” Gamzee’s getting desperate and his voice is all wrong. “A tattoo don’t hurt anyone and if that’s all he’s up to asking from me, I don’t motherfucking care. At least he’s not- He’s just taking care of me!”

“I can’t go saying _what_ _?_ That someone who was safe wouldn’t make their little brother get a tattoo, period, much less one that looks like _that_ _?_ Do you even know who gave it to you, Gamzee, did they even sterile tools or tell you how to take care of it? Getting a tattoo, _especially_ one like that, can hurt you and not just because some tool with a store bought tattoo gun did it.”

“One of his friends,” Gamzee starts saying and then he just stops and stares at Karkat. It seems like he’s shorting out, completely disbelieving of Karkat’s questioning.

“Nothing happened with it,” he says finally, curling his fingers into tighter fists. “It motherfucking healed before you came around, no problem and… And even if something did go bad, it woulda been my own motherfucking fault, not his. He’s just looking after me.”

He’s getting louder, upset in a way Karkat isn’t used to. He can’t even move as Gamzee takes a step forward and grabs hold of his shirt, dragging the shorter boy up onto his toes as he threw back his other fist. “He always looked after me and if you keep trying to paint him like he’s a motherfucking bastard-”

Karkat knows Gamzee’s starting to get agitated, but it doesn’t hit him how _much_ the whole conversation is bothering the other boy until right then, when Gamzee’s actually _threatening to punch him_ , and that’s about when Karkat learns to shut up and just stares. They’ve never fought like this. Hell, they’ve never really _fought_ aside from small, stupid disputes that get solved quickly and forgotten even quicker. Gamzee’s never physically _threatened_ him before, and while he’s not… scared, not _really_ , he also doesn’t want to get into a fist fight with his best friend. Gamzee’s… really worked up about this, isn’t he? Fuck.

“If you keep trying to-”

And then abruptly, Gamzee’s eyes jerk wide as he looks down at his hand tangled in Karkat’s shirt. All the blood drains from his face until he looks absolutely sick with himself. He lets go and reels, tripping over his own feet. Karkat stumbles a step back himself before he can catch his balance, but Gamzee ends up hitting the ground with a grunt and then pushing himself until his back hits the wall.

“I… I… b-best friend, I just… _I’m sorry_ …” Gamzee lets out a soft sob and covers his mouth with both hands. He hunches in on himself and then slides his hands up into his hair.

Karkat stares at him for a few moments, trying to figure out just what the hell happened, but all he can figure is that for the first time in two years, he’d just found Gamzee’s berserk button and he didn’t like what pushing it caused. He shakes himself and then he’s at Gamzee’s side to fix this.

“Hey, hey, no, don’t apologize to _me_ , I was being a dick,” He tries to soothe, half-panicked because he’s gone and made Gamzee _cry_. He sets his hand on Gamzee’s shoulder and the guy _flinches_ , then Karkat gives up and just hugs him. “ _I’m_ the one that should be sorry, okay?  I shouldn’t talk about things I don’t understand, I’m just. Worried.”

He doesn’t understand it _yet_ , anyway, but he’s got a whole study full of books to help him understand. No matter what he says to Gamzee, he’s not going to put this away until he _knows_. And hell, Gamzee just gives another sob against his shoulder as he wraps his long arms around him, burying his face deeper against Karkat’s neck.

“It’s hard not to worry about you, you dickhead. I’ll shut up about it if you just… let me give you something to protect you, too, okay? I mean, it’ll make me happy, and you’ll have double the protection, so everyone wins, right?”

“Anything. Anything you motherfucking want, you just tell me what.”

Fuck, but Gamzee sounded wrecked. He’d really fucked this up, and he really _doesn’t_ have any proof that the tattoo is bad, or that it’d been done with bad intent, it’s just. But he knows a lot about protection symbols and nothing on Gamzee’s back looks very benign. He could try a little tact on for size, but he’s never been good at thinking before he speaks - it’s a family trait. A bad one.

“I’m so sorry… I just… I ain’t never been like them before, didn’t know I _could_ ,” Gamzee manages through unsteady gulps of air. “I ain’t never wanting to motherfucking be like them and I just… Karkat, you gotta know, I won’t hurt you. I swear I won’t be letting myself get motherfucking like that again.”

“We both know I’d kick your ass if you ever hurt me, and we both know I’m never going to need to because you _won’t_ hurt me,” he tries to reassure, because he at least has faith in that. For as taken aback as he’d been when Gamzee had moved _to_ hurt him, he’d never actually believed his friend _could_. He was lucky he’d been right, but the point was that he _had_ been right. He’s just glad Gamzee’s agreeing to this much.

Karkat wishes he knew what the fuck Gamzee’s talking about, but another part of him feels more than a little anxious - all these hints his best friend is dropping, they don’t add up to a nice picture. He’s starting to get an idea of just what Kurloz saved him from.

“I’m going to find you something. I don’t know what, yet. Some kind of pendant, I guess, I’ll find something before you go home. Just promise me you’ll wear it.” He doesn’t know if it’ll do any good, or if it will help, but at least it might do _something_. It’s better than just sitting on his ass.

“I promise. I’ll never take it motherfucking off.”

Okay. Okay, good, basically that just means he has to go digging through his Dad’s stuff to find something.  He knows there’s got to be something _somewhere_ in the house, because his parents are predictable as fuck, but he’s got time to look before Gamzee leaves.

For now, though, he just keeps hugging the fuck out of Gamzee and somehow he ends up running his fingers through the other teenager’s wild ass hair.  He doesn’t do a lot of comforting, but Gamzee’s pretty much the exception for everything. And at least it gives him some time to try and figure through what he’s heard tonight. If Gamzee were any less tired, he probably wouldn’t have let on as much as he has. But right now, he _is_ that tired and maybe Karkat is an asshole that he’s using Gamzee’s fatigue to try and figure his shit out. He wouldn’t have to if the guy would just _talk_ to him.

“Karkat?” Gamzee murmurs quietly after a little while, almost hesitantly. “Can I get my stay on tonight? I ain’t feeling all up to walking home.”

“Yeah, sure, I mean, I was sort of planning on having you stay here tonight anyway?  We haven’t even had dinner yet, I wasn’t about to let you go anytime soon even if you _weren’t_ staying.”

Gamzee relaxes more with every second as Karkat pets him. His desperate clutch loosens into an actual hug instead. “Thanks, bro. You always thinking of me, even when I ain’t motherfucking deserving it. Someday, I get my paying forward on when you need it. You can motherfucking count on that.”

Someday, he’s going to convince Gamzee that he does deserve it, and then neither of them are going to need to worry about how Gamzee’s going to ‘pay it forward’.  What sort of ridiculous bullshit is that?  Karkat’s got Gamzee’s back, and Gamzee’s got Karkat’s, because they’re best friends - it doesn’t need to get anymore complicated than that, as far as he’s concerned. He’s pretty sure Gamzee would look out for _him_ , if their positions were reversed.

Gamzee finally starts pulling back a bit, rubbing the heels of his hands against his wet eyes. Bloodshot definitely isn’t his look, but that does little to make him seem much worse, considering he already didn’t look great. Karkat lets go of him reluctantly and averts his gaze to give him a little privacy when he’s wiping his eyes up. Maybe he’ll actually manage to get Gamzee to sleep, tonight. God knows the other teen looks like he could use it - and now that Karkat thinks about it, maybe his lack of sleep has something to do with whatever it is his brother’s up to? That… doesn’t bode well.

“It’s been a motherfucking long week, so thanks. For, you know, having my motherfucking back.” Gamzee smiles a little and fiddles with his ridiculous headband, working it back into place. “How ‘bout we go get our feasting on? Since we went to the trouble of cooking a motherfucking meal.”

“Don’t even, it’s not a big deal - that’s what ‘bros’ do for each other, right? But yeah, I’m fucking starving and you look like a slight breeze could carry you the fuck away at any moment.”

Gamzee chuckles at that as he levers himself up off the ground, some how managing not to pitch over again. “We best be feeding you so you don’t motherfucking shrivel up to nothing, then, eh? Be a mighty big shame.”

Helping Karkat up to his feet, Gamzee heads back towards the kitchen. This time, plating goes much more smoothly, and soon enough, the two of them are sinking into the miraculous perfection that is Karkat’s couch. The couch is the perfect blend of soft and firm, just right for relaxing into. It cradles the two of them with decadence, soothing their spirits. With a movie flipped on, the experience is motherfucking perfect.

Soon enough, Gamzee’s settling with his full stomach and comforted heart. He gazes contentedly towards the television, slowly growing more and more still. And before the movie’s half over, Gamzee had slipped into a peaceful, quiet sleep.


	5. A Bad Sign, Part Three

As it stands, Karkat’s pretty content that Gamzee falls asleep during the movie, even if he doesn’t personally understand how anyone can find sleep when it comes to the fraught and dramatic romantic plot of Failure to Launch.  It’s a beautiful movie and Karkat is just fucking giddy by the time it’s over, right up until the moment that he realizes Gamzee’s not sleeping easily at _all_.

The relaxed muscles along Gamzee’s body start to tense and his brows furrowing tight as his dreams shift into something far less comfortable. A low, quiet whimper flows from his throat and his fingers dig into the couch cushion like they’re looking for some solid purchase, some clear indication of presence.

Karkat’s already moving to turn the TV off and hit the lights when Gamzee jerks awake, and Karkat decides, abruptly, that this is the sort of shit that’s not going to fly. Something’s going on here, and with the way that Gamzee’s not been sleeping lately, with _this_ obviously being the reason why, and with all the new and creepy things he’s learned about Kurloz…Karkat’s not oblivious _or_ naive.

When Gamzee comes awake, it’s all at once in a full body jerk that has him sitting up straight as trembles roll down his spine. He stares ahead with wet eyes and a queasy expression, his breathing quickened with his heartbeat. There is a bone deep horror in his gaze, as if he’d looked into the abyss and it stared back at him.

Simple nightmares don’t wake people up looking like they’re experiencing existential horror.

Gamzee rubs a hand down his face, and he is fucking _shaking_.

“Gamzee?” Karkat calls as he comes slowly back to the couch, but Gamzee’s wired up and Karkat doesn’t want to freak him out if he forgot where he was. Gamzee jerks his gaze up with more panic and it looks like Karkat made the right call because it takes him a second to come down, like he’s trying to figure out where he is and who’s in front of him. He relaxes a little after, but he’s still pretty revved up from the dream, whatever it had been. Slowly, Karkat sits next to him on the couch, again, and then he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and carefully take him by the arm.  “Hey…do you want a glass of water or something?”

Gamzee swallows back a lump in his throat and looked to Karkat’s hand before he gives a weak little smile.

“I… Yeah, that’s sounding motherfucking amazing.” His voice sounds rough and wane, all kinds of wrong to Karkat’s ears. He reaches up to clasp his hand over Karkat’s and the shaking starts to settle. “Sorry, I ain’t meaning to get my nap on during your movie.”

Karkat _would_ go and get that glass of water, just like he said, but.. .to be honest, leaving Gamzee alone seems like the least kind thing he could do right now, with the way the other teenager looks so harrowed.  So, despite the fact that he offered and despite the fact that Gamzee accepted, Karkat stays exactly where he’s sitting and frowns at the other boy in concern. He doesn’t mind the way Gamzee grips at his hand, either, because he wouldn’t do it unless he needed to do it, somehow.

“It’s fine, it was kind of a dumb movie anyway,” he lies, because if this were anyone else except his terrified looking best friend, he’d probably guilt them for missing a true classic. Gamzee’s always the exception to the rule, though.

“You looked like you needed the sleep anyway. Do you…wanna talk about it? Whatever your nightmare was about, I mean.”

Gamzee glances up at the offer. Karkat expects a no or some kind of brush off, because that’s what his best friend does most of the time. Trying to get depth with him is like moving through a labyrinth of deflection. The guy couldn’t tell a story straight to save his life.  

Sitting back a bit, Gamzee shrugs a shoulder and drags up one knee to rest his chin on. Karkat watches Gamzee as the other boy tries to figure himself out, and hopes that, now that Karkat’s _witnessed_ a nightmare, he’ll tell him more about what’s going on.  Whether it’s a nightmare or something else, it doesn’t matter - Karkat will do whatever he can to help Gamzee, especially when he has access to all _manner_ of books about different methods of help that most doctors probably wouldn’t suggest.

Finally, Gamzee caves and that means things are really bad. “…It ain’t… I mean… You sure you wanna know? You don’t seem to like much when I talk about the motherfucking miracles. And I ain’t gonna lose it if I don’t say something… I don’t wanna get all up and annoying…”

“Yeah, I’m sure I wanna know. Even the parts that might have to do with your miracles. I think I can manage to get over myself enough to unclog the wax from my ears and listen.  And look, you know how weird my parents are, right? Maybe I can actually do something to help.”

Gamzee wets his lips nervously, peeking at Karkat from the corner of his dark eyes before looking away again.

“It’s gonna sound motherfucking weird,” he warns as he picks a bit at the fraying edge of his pant leg. “I… It’s like I don’t got a body, right? Except I still feel _hurt_ and little chunks of me are getting motherfucking eaten right off the edges. All around me’s these colors- _fuck_ , the colors. Man, I ain’t having _names_ for them, all flashing in and out and ain’t even real after I’m done seeing them.”

He shivers a little, hunching in on himself tighter. “And they ain’t right, the colors. They’re all to being bright and sharp and motherfucking painful in my head space. Like they ain’t colors I should be all of seeing, if that makes any sense to you. I just… It’s like they go in me and eat me up and spit out the motherfucking gristle.”

Gamzee’s gaze is getting less here and now, like he’s seeing the nightmare all over again. He stares ahead at the blank TV and shakes.

“Then there’s pictures,” he says and his voice scarcely makes noise, all hushed out and small. “There’s pictures behind the colors, all sneaky and- But I see them anyway. I’m motherfucking _in_ them, ‘cept it ain’t… It ain’t me, it’s just motherfucking bits of me making up a body and- I only see them for a second, just a second, but I can… Sometimes I know what they’re being of and Karkat, bro, I ain’t knowing what’s wrong with me to be seeing myself like that. It’s sick. It’s motherfucking sick and twisted and _wrong_.”

He shifts, pressing his forehead against his knee like he can hide from any of this. “A-and even when I’m being awake, I keep _remembering_ …”

Karkat sits still and listens as Gamzee goes on about his nightmare, storing it all in the same place he’s memorized the design of that tattoo because he’s not convinced the two aren’t related, somehow, despite the fact that he knows Gamzee’s had the tattoo for longer than he’s had the nightmares. Right? Maybe he’s always had the nightmares and they’ve just gotten bad recently, or something, or maybe Gamzee’s better at hiding things than Karkat’s ever thought.

To be honest, the description of the nightmares _don’t_ make a lot of sense to him, but it doesn’t stop the creeping feeling of horror from shuddering down his spine, the more Gamzee describes.  It might not make sense, but he can see how badly they’ve fucked up Gamzee and he can empathize how seeing stuff like that would make _him_ feel.

It’s wrong for anything to make Gamzee act like this, all hushed and scared and small sounding.  Gamzee’s been the most unbothered motherfucker Karkat knows, and even if he understands that even Gamzee has things that bother him, it’s still not right that something’s bothering him enough that he’s not trying to pull the stoner wool over everyone’s (including his own) eyes.

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with you,” he says, firstly and fiercely, because he’s not going to let anything make his best friend think there’s _anything_ wrong with him, even if it turns out these nightmares are a product of Gamzee’s own mind. Especially then. Nightmares that bad, though… they’re pretty indicative of _something_ being wrong, even if it’s not necessarily supernatural. Karkat’s going to figure it out.

The fierce words bring Gamzee’s head back up and the look he gives Karkat is utterly, completely adoring. He manages a little smile and then throws his arms around Karkat tight like Karkat’s his lifeline. And Karkat is not going to betray that.

“Those… sound like pretty bad nightmares, Gamzee. They don’t…” He cuts himself off as he hugs Gamzee back, because if he says they don’t sound like _normal_ nightmares, Gamzee’s not going to understand what he means, and it’s going to lead back around to another argument about Kurloz. Karkat’s not broaching that issue again, at least not until he has proof that Gamzee’s brother is up to something bad.

“I’ll figure something out, I swear. You shouldn’t have to deal with that shit.  There’s all sorts of natural remedies for nightmares and crap, and if those don’t work, I’ll keep looking. We’re putting a stop to this.”

“Bro, I’d up and try anything you wanna give me,” Gamzee promises and he sounds so very relieved, like Karkat’s taken a huge weight off his shoulders. Like Karkat’s already saved him. “You’re a motherfucking miracle.”

Karkat keeps the disaster of his best friend in his arms until Gamzee’s settled again and despite the nightmare he’s already had, Gamzee’s out again in minutes. It doesn’t really surprise Karkat. He knew the guy was exhausted. Laying him out comfortably, Karkat drags an afghan over him and then goes to the study.

He has a best friend to keep sane.


	6. How did you get into this mess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to post this over here! Sorry!!! Have a random Karkat and Gamzee art as an apology.  
> http://soultapped.tumblr.com/post/85360369418/still-not-dead-finished-a-simple-color-on-that

“You look like thit.”

 

“Thanks, Sol, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear after traipsing through the forest.”

 

“Go take a bath. Jethus, what did you get into? You thmell like doom and brimthtone, demon thummoner.”

 

Aradia snorts and waves a dismissive hand at him, but she does need a shower like breathing. Half an hour later, she’s squeaky clean and wrapped up in the softest of towels and her pajamas are the best things ever. The lingering unease of her experience is fading with every comfort she lays upon herself. When he hands her a bowl of ice cream, that’s the last straw.

 

“You are so getting laid tonight,” she says brightly as she digs in. Sollux just rolls his eyes and drops down onto the couch next to her.

 

“Didn’t we already agree that would be a terrible idea conthidering how terrible we are for each other?” He opens up his laptop, pulling up a tabbed search he’d done while she was gone.

 

“Might be different this time,” Aradia muses over her spoon of icy joy. “You could actually remember my name.”

 

He winces and she gives his shoulder a little squeeze. Still too soon, huh? She shifts over and rests her head against his shoulder before offering him a bite. Sollux gives the spoon a dark look but then accepts it and chases every tiny trace of chocolate off the spoon with his tongue. For a moment, Aradia thinks seriously about jumping him for real. And then the idea fades because they really were horrible together and it had almost ruined the both of them.

 

“Tho, becauthe I’m apparently crathy, I ran a thearch on any weird activity where you did your theance.” He tabs over to a map of some sort and points out a ring of red, then switches to another. “That’th an earthquake. That’th a localithed thtorm thell. That’th a report on thuthpithiouth animal activity- Mother of god, I am never thaying the word thuthpithiouth ever again.”

 

Aradia nudges his shoulder with her cheek, then drags the laptop over to her side so she can study the maps and report a little better. It’s weird to see the overlap and think about the ritual she performed, to have it proven that _something_ happened, even if it wasn’t necessarily demonic in nature. She worries her lip a bit between her teeth.

 

“AA?”

 

Aradia looks up and Sollux pins her with a concerned look over the edge of his bicolored glasses. “I’m good.”

 

“Right. I’ll buy that. And that bridge you’re thelling in New York.”

 

Snorting, she bumps her shoulder to his and the two of them comb over the information he’d pulled up. Aradia explains the way the ritual went, describes the entity that had attacked her, and finally, Sollux just sits back and scowls.

 

“So why the hell did you do thith in the firtht plathe?”

 

“Ah… Ha ha. So. You know that bookstore I like?”

 

“....Yeth?”

 

“So, the owner and I got into this debate, right.” Sollux is giving her his disappointed look as Aradia tucks a damp curl behind her ear. “Okay, well, we got to talking spirituality last week.”

 

Sollux groans. “Don’t tell me.”

 

“He dared me to do it.”

 

He covers his head in his hands and lets out a little laugh. “And you did.”

 

“To be fair, he owes me twenty bucks and a few books now.” Aradia grins when Sollux just glares at her through his fingers. “I won!”

 

“You are tho thtupid.”

 

Aradia rolls her eyes. “The books were worth it. That’s the only place I can ever find anything useful.

 

“I thwear…” He rubs at his face and then sits up again. “Okay. Well, letth athume you really did thummon thome kind of demon- which ith a pretty big athumpthion!”

 

“Pretty big demon, too.”

 

He gives her a dirty look. “Right. Tho, athuming you thummoned a demon inthead of having a nervouth breakdown in the woodth, what the hell do we do about it?”

 

And that’s the part that stumps her. Aradia’s used to working with old, dead things, labyrinthine ruins to traipse about in. She’s used to stuffy libraries and even stuffier historians that like to make her pry out every tiny detail one at a time at great length. In all that, everything is pretty straight forward and mundane.

 

What happened last night is anything but.

 

“Do a web search?” she suggests and Sollux rolls his eyes. He taps the screen and Aradia checks over the other tabs and… Looks like he already did.

 

“I tried writing a thearch algorithm to weed out the neopagan, thatanithtic bullthit, but that only got me tho far.” He opens up a folder of bookmarks - how the hell did he do that in the two hours it took her to get home?! “There’th not a lot of utheful informathion out there. People jutht don’t thummon demonth like they uthed to. You know, thinthe the advent of the lightbulb.”

 

“Watch the attitude, mister.”

 

“Pot, meet kettle.” She scowls at him. “Look, I’m not the one following thketchy inthtructionth from a weirdo.”

 

“He’s not _that_ weird.”

 

“He ith _exactly_ that weird.”

 

Aradia rolls her eyes. “Okay.  Okay, maybe I should go talk to him.”

 

“And make thith _worthe?_ ”

 

“You don’t know it’ll be worse! He might have some ideas. I mean, you would not believe the kinds of books he can get his hands on.”

 

Sollux gives her a look like she’s missing something huge and obvious. She doesn’t know what that could mean and she’s getting a little tired of his attitude because it’s not helping much. Moodily, Aradia turns back to her ice cream.

 

“Not everything is doom and gloom, Sol.”

 

“No, thometimeth it’th demonth.” But he gives a soft sigh and bumps her shoulder hesitantly. “Okay. You talk to him, like tomorrow or thomething. I’ll keep doing rethearch. There are thome contactth that _might_ have more informathion if they’re legit.”

 

Aradia smiles against her bowl. “Softy.”

 

“Yeah, yeah…”


End file.
